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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26957452">Fluffy Tales of Shadows and Moonshine</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zaya_Ayame/pseuds/Zaya_Ayame'>Zaya_Ayame</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts (Cartoon), She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Comedy, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Fluff, For the Love of Shadow Weaver, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Inspired by Fanart, Just some soft and humorous stories, Other, Psychological Trauma, Romance, Song Lyrics, Star Gazing, Vulnerability, more tags will be added, some may be romantic but these will be tagged as they are added</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 19:08:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>15,049</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26957452</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zaya_Ayame/pseuds/Zaya_Ayame</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>An on-going collection of short stories of domestic, sweet, funny and sometimes sad stories that revolve around Shadow Weaver. These may contain head canons or just self-indulgent what-if stories that may or may not coincide with any canon story of She-Ra.</p>
<p>Feel free to suggests a prompt you'd like to see written as a chapter in the comments!<br/>-Enjoy!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Castaspella/Shadow Weaver | Light Spinner (She-Ra), Catra &amp; Shadow Weaver | Light Spinner (She-Ra), Glimmer &amp; Shadow Weaver | Light Spinner (She-Ra)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>65</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>114</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. A Sneeze by Anyone Else...</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There were few who knew that she was capable of mortal actions. The mask, you see, was more than just a veil to hide her secrets by. It took her mortality and mundane form and escalated it into mythos. Such was her desire and necessary within the Horde…</p>
<p>However, for those who paid attention, it would be plain to see that she was just as vulnerable - just as Etherian - as the rest of them. </p>
<p>A soft sound, muffled and nearly imperceptible, echoed through the calm of the garden greenhouse she resided in. Behind her mask and mythos, Shadow Weaver was… unfortunately, suffering from a reaction to a rather disastrous case of hay fever. For years, whilst tucked away within the metallic monstrosity that was the Horde, Shadow Weaver had avoided this dismal condition and had even taken solace that she didn’t have to take care with the fever. </p>
<p>Heavens knew that her time on Mystacor had been rife with humiliation and being surrounded by the very rarity of vegetations didn’t make it any easier. </p>
<p>“Ugh,” She even sounded congested, a terrible side-effect, and was sworn to keep to herself this day and speak to no one. </p>
<p>That was what she wanted, at least - Moons forfend that she actually got what she wanted. </p>
<p>“Shadow Weaver, are you-?” Came the voice of Glimmer, newly crowned, incredulous as the sorceress turned to her with an magicked eyebrow raised in surprise.</p>
<p>“Your Majesty, what can I do for you?” She did her best to sound as refined as possible, stifling any sniffles that would have <em>dared</em> to hamper her image. Alas, she could not stop the world from turning…</p>
<p>“What? I’m fine, but,” Glimmer snorted in a rather unlady-like manner, eliciting Shadow Weaver to narrow her eyes upon her. “-Are YOU okay? I never thought you could get, like… sick and stuff.” </p>
<p>“There are many things you don’t know about me; a fact I’m rather protective of,” Shadow Weaver drawled, hating the way her consonants sounded muted and stuffy. “U-Ugh,” She turned away, moving her hand to her mask just in time to lift it up and keep a rather muted sneeze from making mess inside of her mask. “Damn it…” She hissed, wiping her nose with her sleeve with as much grace as possible for someone with a reddened nose and blood-shot eyes. </p>
<p>She replaced her mask, turning back to Glimmer a threat on the tip of her tongue when Glimmer held up both of her hands - a tinkle of laughter bubbling forth, “I won’t tell a soul, promise! Heheh,” And against her better judgement, Shadow Weaver felt herself sigh in relief at that. </p>
<p>“You have my gratitude, My Queen…”</p>
<p>“No problem! Uh… should we put off our lesson for today?” </p>
<p>“It would be in both our best interests. However,” Shadow Weaver paused, pushing herself from the ground and patting her robe down. “-Tea would be an efficient diversion.” </p>
<p>At that, Glimmer’s eyes would widen as a memory of having tea with her mother flooded back to her - every time she was grounded it was time they could share together. Although having tea with Shadow Weaver was hardly comparable as when she spent time with her mother… it was still difficult to ignore the warmth that came with being able to maybe do that again - even if it was under different circumstances. </p>
<p>“My Queen?” Shadow Weaver called, curious and concerned over the quiet that came from the usually <em>very</em> boisterous teen. </p>
<p>“Hm? Oh! I’m fine! Yeah, I… I’d like that! We can have it in my room or, like… I don’t know, the Dining Room. Where do you-?” </p>
<p>“Anywhere is fine, Your Majesty. Lead on.”</p>
<p>And for once, since the loss of her mother, Glimmer was happy that Shadow Weaver hadn’t taken the opportunity given to her to escape from Brightmoon.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Rose-Colored Glasses</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Shadow Weaver realizes the extent of the damaged she caused...</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In the evening, as with most nights, there was a schedule and order in which things were done. Cadets, soldiers and even the Force Captains adhered to this strict curfew as dictated by the General of Hordak’s armies. Hordak hardly required sleep, given he was always busy with his own personal projects and held tightly to the immunity of being the leader of the Horde. Shadow Weaver, on the other hand, was fiercely possessive and forceful about the rules and structure she’d put in place.</p><p>More than a decade of work would <strong>never</strong> go to waste on her watch. </p><p>Imagine her frustration and lividity when she was informed of a disturbance in the peace of the night. Worse, it had come from <em>Adora</em> and in all of her years of raising her… Adora never called on her to assist with anything.</p><p>Especially not Catra. </p><p>More than the strict adherence to the rules in place, Shadow Weaver was especially hard on Catra. Her reasons were her own and would stay that way, but regardless of her immovable stance on how useless that cat could be… a cold chill within her heart made her own feeling of worry quite apparent to her. </p><p>
  <em>”Shadow Weaver! Please, something happened to Catra!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>”What is it, Adora? You know you should be in bed by this time. Drills are never postponed for lackadaisical behavior,” Shadow Weaver admonished gently, not quite worried about Catra in the least or her usual disturbances.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>”I-I know, but Catra… she did something and I-I I don’t know what to do! I was trying to help her but she yelled at me and-and-and,” Already, Shadow Weaver could tell that what Adora was recounting was much more than just a typical teenage disturbance. Tears freely ran down Adora’s face, panic in her heart and when she threw herself around the sorceress’ waist in a desperate plea…</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She placed her hand against the back of Adora’s head, soothing coos to keep her calm. “I will find her. Go back to bed, Adora,” She made the command a soft one, rubbing away tears with her thumb as she spoke. “Catra will return by the morning.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She would make sure of it. </em>
</p><p>And so, she’d called upon her shadow spies to find the troublesome beast - searching each and every crevice until the response back was unanimous and… shocking. </p><p>She was in the Black Garnet Chamber. </p><p>Rage bubbled to the surface, the sorceress melting into the floor as she used the fastest method of movement to pursue the wretched creature. <em>What have you done THIS time?!</em> </p><p>Within seconds, Shadow Weaver’s form would bubble from the dark shadows of the chamber - intimidatingly (by design) rise to her full height as she cast her gaze inquisitively through the room. It didn’t take long for the out of place figure along the floor, huddled in a little ball against the Garnet, to take her notice. “Catra…” Her voice rumbled, amplified and terrifying as she floated toward the figure. </p><p>She expected many things from the adolescent teen; screaming, a cry of mercy and floundered apology - all of which she would ignore spitefully to teach this <em>child</em> a lesson… What she received instead was a choked sob and sniffle, followed by the most pathetic and wretched whimper.</p><p>“Sh-Shadow Weaver,” Catra called out, the hiccup breaking up her voice as she held tightly to her arms. </p><p>Silently, Shadow Weaver narrowed her eyes upon the huddled mess - sensing something was amiss. Caught off guard by the unexpected tone of helplessness, of fear, Shadow Weaver was then suddenly assaulted by a new scent that wasn’t there before. </p><p>Blood. </p><p>“I-...It won’t stop,” Catra whimpered, whispered, her voice low and ashamed and terrified that this day would be her last. She hadn’t intended to go so deep; the nightmares so disturbing and painful that she’d pierced her forearms so deeply with her claws that when Adora awoke to her crying and saw the blood on her sheets.</p><p>She couldn’t stop her reaction. She screamed, ashamed and scared of her best friend seeing the wounds, and pushed her away - rushing off to try and stop the bleeding. But it didn’t and she couldn’t go to the infirmary after curfew-</p><p>Shadow Weaver’s eyes widened slowly, looking down Catra’s form as she noticed the splotches of blood on the ground that she did not notice before. There was… much of it. More than she expected could be contained in a small body such as Catra’s. The realization that she was suffering blood loss pulled on a string of panic Shadow Weaver didn’t believe she possessed and certainly not for Catra. </p><p>“You… <em>foolish</em> child,” Shadow Weaver hissed, leaning down a moment more with her hands held before Catra’s face. Hot, bubbling anger threatened to overtake her by habit - so weak - but the manner in which Catra curled in on herself, sobbing brokenly was disarming and… Shadow Weaver managed to tuck away her reactionary anger to calmly rub her fingers through Catra’s hair. </p><p>She imagined that it was Adora in this situation and it… made it easier. “Shh, it’s-” She struggled, unable to imagine her strong, self-sufficient Adora is such a pathetic position. “-It’s going to be alright.” </p><p>“A-Am,” Catra hiccuped again, soothed enough by the gesture to release her hands from her arms. “-Am I gonna die?” </p><p>On instinct, Shadow Weaver forgot herself, “You? I doubt it,” She reached with her other hand to pull the arm closer and inspect it. “You’re much too stubborn to die.” </p><p>And the reminder almost made Shadow Weaver… proud of that fact. </p><p>Another sniffle, “Adora saw…”</p><p>“Yes. She came to me,” Shadow Weaver deadpanned with a disgusted tone. “What have I told you about bringing Adora <em>down<em>?” She made sure to say it calmly, soothingly, and without the bite she’d used the first time. </em></em></p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t-” She was trembling, the blood seeping through the wounds faster as her heartbeat pushed more through the surface. The wounds were severe and Shadow Weaver didn’t know enough about Catra’s biology to estimate how soon the blood would clot. </em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“Quiet. I must concentrate,” She interrupted, hushing the girl as she moved her hand from her hair and over the wound. On instinct, a beckoned circle appeared and Catra yelped - afraid for her life. “Quit moving! You’re going to make it worse!” </em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“Please don’t-! I promise I won’t do it again!” And for some reason, that call pierced through the sorceress heart - forcing her to recall a time she’d said those very same words… And the pain that came from that was almost immediate. <em>’Stop crying.’ ‘Do you need a reason to cry?’ ‘Stop being so pathetic’</em> The words rattled in her head, heart pounding as she felt as though she were looking into a mirror. </em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>The pleading had her reach forward again, pulling Catra into an embrace as she whispered soft placations. “Shh, that’s enough. You won’t… I know you won’t,” She tried. Saying the words she wanted to hear and hoping it was enough. “I’m going to help you. It’s going to hurt, but it will help…” Gently, she pulled away, cocking her head to one side, “... Do you trust me?”</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Another sniffle, silent for a moment before Catra boldly responded in honesty, “N-No…” </em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“That is fine. You do not need to. But you will cease moving… do you understand?” </em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>And for once, between them, there was an understandable silence; of acceptance that had Catra nod. “Yes, Sh-Shadow Weaver.”</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“Good. Now, hold out your arms; nevermind the blood - we will get that taken care of-” A sense of accomplishment washed over the sorceress, not only had she gained Catra compliance but she could feel a familiar maternal sense that she’d not felt since her time as Light Spinner.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>She wasn’t sure if that was good or bad but it felt nice, so she regarded it positively. </em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Once more, her hands illuminated with the circle - to heal but… the darkness pervaded her every pore and action and she was certain that it wouldn’t feel as pleasant as if she were that teacher back on Mystacor. “Do not move,” She commanded, igniting the spell over the wounds. </em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>A pained gasp from Catra had her nearly disobey the order immediately but - against her better judgement - Shadow Weaver could see how Catra bit her lip and remained. She fought to not move away; to obey. It was the most determined Shadow Weaver had seen Catra and she admitted silently to herself that it was admirable to see. </em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>She was capable of so much, yet doubted herself, sabotaged her own success for Adora and even destroyed potential bonds that could be useful to her future… disappointment set in on the realization that in spite of her great potential, Shadow Weaver knew that Catra would go right back to those useless antics. </em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>As the spell came to its conclusion - the wounds sealed to reveal barely-there scars - Shadow Weaver would dispel the circle and take the arm in hand to observe her handiwork. Catra winced but said nothing, too scared to respond after having been healed. </em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Finally, when Shadow Weaver was satisfied, she released a soft sigh of relief she hadn’t realized she was holding. “You foolish girl…” And to this day, Shadow Weaver didn’t know what came over her as she pulled Catra into another embrace - this one much tighter than the last. “What brought you to this…?” </em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Speechless but spurned on by the command to speak, Catra forced the words, “I-... It was a dream, I…” She paused, ashamed. Swallowing, she continued, “Adora was there… and y-you were there. Adora was hurt and I w-... wasn’t and you were so m-m-mad, and I-” The nightmare was still so fresh, and she had to stop. </em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Calmly, Shadow Weaver listened and rationally imagined that… Yes, if something had happened to Adora and it was Catra fault, the dream would not likely have been so unlikely. It was then that the sorceress realized just how deep the wounds she’d inflicted on Catra were… so much that Catra had inflicted physical wounds in reaction. Shadow Weaver swallowed a knot in her throat as she fought to think of words. It was easy to say what Catra wanted to hear, but the moment was far too raw to force lies. </em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“It’s alright,” She promised, meaning it and realizing that she needed to make this right. “I won’t hurt you. I don’t… don’t mean to hurt you.” </em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Catra sobbed, forcing her face into her robes, “-But <em>you do</em>!”</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“I do…” Shadow Weaver accepted, rubbing Catra;s back. “I know.” </em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>She would not deny it. Never. It made Catra strong, she believed. She needed to be strong. Strong like Adora. Stronger. </em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>For a while, they just remained there - Shadow Weaver allowing Catra this moment and Catra making this moment into a memory that would last for years. She would hold onto it at night, when the nightmares would lie to her about Shadow Weaver. She would use it to justify the pain; knowing there was something there that with this one memory that her only mother figure was… was at least capable of this.</em>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I realize it's not as... fluffy as one might expect but I'm hoping that you may get a sense of catharsis out of this piece. If you suffer from self-harming, please know that people care for you and that there are resources to turn to in times of great pain. It's not easy to break the habit and it can be what you need in the moment, but people care for you.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. What We Have is You</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Days after Glimmer's Coronation, she still struggles with her duties as Queen and with the loss of her parents. After three days of grieving in her own way, Glimmer doesn't expect to eavesdrop of Shadow Weaver doing the same.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It had hardly been a few days since the Coronation; one of the toughest days in Glimmer’s life. It meant a lot of things and not all of them were that great. It meant being strong and a guiding her people… it meant becoming a symbol of hope in a time of darkness and… it meant accepting that her mom was gone. Adora and Bow made it easier, supportive and kind and everything she wanted in friends. She wasn’t sure she ever deserved them.</p>
<p>But sometimes, when she sat alone in her room waiting for her mother’s knock and the call of her name… it wasn’t always enough. She’d walked the halls when she wasn’t needed in meetings or making decisions and more often than not she stopped in the war room and just… looked at the mural. </p>
<p>Standing beside her Father’s side, proud and strong and beautiful… </p>
<p>Tonight wasn’t any different, walking down the halls after Bow and Adora had fallen asleep and it was well into the evening. She’d been on autopilot, her gaze floor-ward and not quite paying attention to what was around her. When she’d come to the double doors of the war room, Glimmer realized with a start that the doors were ajar - something that never happened while the guards were on duty. </p>
<p>She gasped, hearing the sound of a voice inside, “... jesty. You… such a heroic fool…” It was deep, but soft and almost… sorrowful?</p>
<p>Carefully, Glimmer peeked inside the war room, curious as to who was inside. When she recognized the red robes of Shadow Weaver, her eyes widened and almost immediately she was confused and angry. <em>Why is SHE here?!</em> </p>
<p>However, no sooner had she felt the emotions bubble up did she realize that Shadow Weaver wasn’t with anyone inside. Alone, she could be seen looking up at the mural and still speaking. Glimmer quietly listened, suspicious. </p>
<p>“Micah… how many years did it take you to admit to Angella that you loved her? It must not have been long, given just how obnoxious you were about your feelings,” Shadow Weaver chuckled, a sad cold sound that had Glimmer’s eyebrow knit upward in shock. She’d forgotten that she knew her Dad when he was a kid. “Always so strong. Always the heroic type. Just like Angella… I wonder,” She paused, sounding almost as if she were choking. </p>
<p>“Would you both… still be here?... if I never left? Would the Rebellion truly have defeated the Horde if I’d just… stayed and trusted that fool, Norwyn?” </p>
<p>Without realizing it, Glimmer felt the wetness of tears fall down her cheeks as she watched the scene before her; Shadow Weaver bringing up a shaking arm and placing it against the wall. </p>
<p>Then, so softly she almost didn’t catch it, “I… I’m sorry,” It was like hearing someone completely different, “-that I wasn’t there. Protecting you. Protecting her… And now, you-... you’re both gone, but I’m still here.” Her hands flexed, claws digging into the stone by the sound of it. “Still <em>weak.</em> A coward… even after everything.” </p>
<p>From behind the door, Glimmer brought a hand up to her mouth - moved but also terrified that she’d ruin whatever this was. Carefully, she tried to move back from the door - only to trip over the cape of her royal garb and fall backwards with a cry, grasping at the door in a flail and pulling it open on the way down.</p>
<p>Inside, Shadow Weaver gasped and looked toward the door. There, looking up fearfully and in shame… was the Queen. More specifically, the once-Princess Glimmer that succeeded Angella. Words of aggression and coldness died on her tongue just before she turned away from Glimmer. </p>
<p>“I-! I’m sorry, I didn’t-”</p>
<p>“I take it you were there for quite some time, then,” Shadow Weaver rumbled, the tone not quite angry or upset but something that resembled apathy.</p>
<p>Glimmer got to her feet, pushing through the door and up to her, “I didn’t mean to overhear, I just… I started to come here and I didn’t realize anyone was doing the same. I didn’t expect-”</p>
<p>“It matters not, Your Majesty,” Shadow Weaver sighed, turning back to Glimmer before attempting to make her way past her, “I shall take my leave of your war room.” </p>
<p>Just before she could get very far, however, Shadow Weaver felt a hand on her wrist and stopped, “Please, wait, I…” She turned back towards Glimmer, the whites of her mask wider as she looked down upon the sorrowful expression of the Queen, “Please stay? Just… Just for a few moments?” Hearing the broken and barely stifled sob, Shadow Weaver knew she didn’t have it in her to refuse. </p>
<p>Expression softening behind the mask, Shadow Weaver turned back to Glimmer and gave a single nod, “As you wish.” Before Glimmer had a chance to thank you, the sorceress was already moving them over to the wall and settling them both against it. The feel of hands around her shoulders and the sureness with which Shadow Weaver rubbed a thumb along her shoulder blade… Glimmer couldn’t stop the sudden gasp of a sob that escaped her. “It’s alright. Let it out. No one is here and… even Queens need a moment to cry.” </p>
<p>In between the sound of hiccups and sniffles, Glimmer looked up at Shadow Weaver, “Th-They do?” </p>
<p>“Most of all,” Shadow Weaver assured, a knowing but warm tone to her voice. </p>
<p>“How would you know?” </p>
<p>“I knew your mother, though, admittedly it was before she had become the Queen. The responsibility of being an immortal princess of the Moonstone was a constant ache on her mind. The war, ravaging Etheria since before you were born, was always a presence that weighed upon her. Once,” Shadow Weaver hesitated, uncertain if she should tell of her past. “-your Mother and I… knew each other.”</p>
<p>Glimmer’s eyes widened, the red puffiness of her tears slowly fading, “You knew my Mom too?!”</p>
<p>“From my days as Light Spinner, yes. You could say I-” She chuckled, “-got around.” </p>
<p>By the look on Glimmer’s face, she almost regretted coming into the war room, “I don’t think I want to know.” </p>
<p>“Naturally,” Shadow Weaver joked, relieved that at least Glimmer wasn’t crying anymore. As she sat against the wall, a memory came to her and she looked up at the ceiling around her. The words fell from her tongue easier than it had in decades. “You’re just like your father. Strong. Brave,” She glanced down at her, “-a little obnoxious.” </p>
<p>“Tch, and you aren’t?” Glimmer laughed, a warmth spreading in her chest at the familiar sentiment. It reminded her of all the times her Mother told her about her Dad.</p>
<p>“Touche, My Queen,” <em>And just as witty,</em> she added silently. “Before the Spell of Obtainment, Your Father, Micah, was more than just an exceptional student.” Shadow Weaver looked ahead, as if seeing something miles away, “He was kind and smart. Patient. He was unlike anyone I’d ever met. Once, as a child, he even desired to become my friend. Naturally, as his Teacher, I had to tell him why that could not be, but… he was a stubborn child and I could not deny being moved by his sentimentality.” </p>
<p>Glimmer listened, never having heard much about her Father from anyone else besides her Mother and Aunt Casta and - hearing it from Shadow Weaver of all people - it was like hearing about another side to him. </p>
<p>She remembered Shadow Weaver’s words spoken by herself and felt her smile fade, looking down. “Do you… Would you ever want to go back and do things differently?” She asked quietly. </p>
<p>For a long time, Shadow Weaver said nothing, honestly thinking about the question. When she’d come to an answer she was satisfied with, it shook Glimmer, “Sometimes. When I think of all that we lost and all that we could have gained - what I could have gained - hindsight dictates that the Spell of Obtainment was beyond a failure.” She looked down at Glimmer, holding out a hand to show the sharp claws at the end, “-but I think of what I gained from this mistake.” </p>
<p>Glimmer gasped, “Adora…”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p><em>And Catra…</em> But those were thoughts for another time. </p>
<p>For a while, neither said anything, before Shadow Weaver was the one to interrupt the silence. “Your Mother and Father would be proud of you, Glimmer.” She didn’t bother to look at Glimmer as she spoke, unwilling to see the expression of shock, “Don’t… make the same mistakes I did,” Glimmer could hear the sorceress’ attempt to hold back emotion. “Don’t abandon them. Your friends or your people. Should you desire it, I- OOF!”</p>
<p>Before she could finish, Shadow Weaver felt the air knocked out of her as arms tightly wrapped around her midsection. Glimmer said nothing, her face firmly pressed into her side, and Shadow Weaver didn’t know what to do in this situation, either. After a moment of hesitation, Shadow Weaver just placed a hand on her back awkwardly patting Glimmer. </p>
<p>When Glimmer finally pulled away, wiping at her face, an idea suddenly came to her. “Gimme a sec, okay?” </p>
<p>Shadow Waver raised an eyebrow but gestured for her to continue. In a flash, Glimmer was gone - leaving the sorceress to own company for an extended moment. In the time that she had, Shadow Weaver allowed her head to lean against the wall. </p>
<p><em>Oh, Micah… My Angel… what can I do to make this right? Could I ever? What a child you two have conceived; to take solace in someone like me. I can’t tell if you’ve raised her to be foolish or incredibly benevolent.</em> </p>
<p>She closed her eyes behind the mask, resting. </p>
<p>The sudden sound of Glimmer teleporting startled her from her rest, Shadow Weaver cursing the realization that she’d nearly fallen asleep. “Okay! I thought I lost it but I just had to check my closet! I-” Sitting before her, Glimmer held a lute in her hands and Shadow Weaver almost couldn’t look at the smile the Glimmer beamed up at her. “I thought this might cheer us both up. It… it was something my Dad used to sing to me when I was a kid and my Mom would sing it when we missed him a lot, and…” Stumbling over her words, Glimmer just let out a loud groan and held it up, “-Just listen okay?!”</p>
<p>At a loss for what to do, Shadow Weaver gestured for her to continue. </p>
<p>For a moment, Glimmer was beset by nerves, before she closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. Before finally…</p>
<p>The strum of notes collided against Shadow Weaver like a spell, a soft gasp being pulled from her as her eyes widened. In a flash, memories rushing to the surface, the visage of Glimmer was replaced by Micah - smiling as he sang a song he’d come up with. He said it was something to ‘motivate them’ when they’d lost their way and she remembered him singing it every time they’d sneak out during the evenings after they’d taken a break from their studies. </p>
<p><em>”We may not have sunshine</em><br/>
<em>Or Starlight or Weather</em><br/>
<em>But we’ve got each other</em><br/>
<em>And that’s even better.”</em></p>
<p>Glimmer, eyes closed as she recalled the smile of her mother and the hugs from her father, continued to sing as she strummed - unaware of the reaction from Shadow Weaver. </p>
<p>
  <em>”You don't need the sun to keep you warm</em><br/>
<em>When you've got arms</em><br/>
<em>Wishes come from you</em><br/>
<em>And not a random shooting star.”</em>
</p>
<p>From behind the mask, Shadow Weaver could feel the gathering of tears at her eyes threatening to spill over. Swallowing the knot of pain in her throat, she closed her eyes and allowed them to fall - if only because she knew that they would not escape from her mask. </p>
<p>In her mind, the flash of memories was nearly overwhelming. Every grin he’d tossed her way The laughter they shared. The hijinx they were always up to in spite of the obvious rules that forbade it…</p>
<p>
  <em>”We may not have storm clouds</em><br/>
<em>But the sky's always blue </em><br/>
<em>We've got something special here.”</em>
</p>
<p>Glimmer opened her eyes, a special sparkle present that wasn’t there before as she finished, the heart of the song’s meaning directed especially to the sorceress as she opened her eyes. </p>
<p>To Glimmer, in spite of their experiences, she believed that there was something there in Shadow Weaver. It may not be so bright and it certainly wasn’t what she would have expected in an Ex-Horde General… but she knew what she felt and knew that she wasn’t the only one in her family to see something in Shadow Weaver. </p>
<p>
  <em>”And what we have is you</em><br/>
<em>What we have is you</em><br/>
<em>What we have is you...”</em>
</p>
<p>As she strummed the final set of notes, Glimmer realized that she was also crying and brought a hand up to wipe at her face. She sniffed, putting the lute off to the side carefully before she forced out a nervous laugh, “Sorry, that… that always chokes me up. Did you like it?” Finally looking at the sorceress, Glimmer’s hands suddenly came up in shock and worry as she witnessed the woman reaching up and pulling the mask from her face.</p>
<p>Tears ran down her scarred cheeks freely, the sorceress unbothered by showing her face after hearing such a powerful song directed at her again after 20 years. She brought a hand up, wiping away at the tears, “It… It was lovely, My Queen.” </p>
<p>“Oh… Oh my stars, are you… Are you okay?!” Glimmer was terrified and excited all at once, pretty certain no one else had ever seen Shadow Weaver without her mask on. </p>
<p>Once her face was dry, Shadow Weaver replaced the mask. As if it had never happened, Shadow Weaver’s voice was back to it’s deadpanned baritone, “I will be. Thank you, Your Majesty.”</p>
<p>“Y-Yeah,” In spite of her shock and awe, Glimmer felt like she’d managed something amazing and - at the same time - felt much better after having shared the song with her. Still, her face was warm as she didn’t expect to see what she did, “You… You’re really pretty under there, you know.”  </p>
<p>“Oh?” The sound of a chuckle was heard. “I’ll tell you like I told your Father, <em>Queen Glimmer</em>,” Carefully, she got up from the floor and held out a hand for Glimmer to take. As she did so, Glimmer could hear a smile in her words, “I’ve no time for your flattery.” </p>
<p>Not even Glimmer expected the unladylike snort that escaped her, slapping a hand over her mouth. “Sorry!” She managed between bouts of laughter, tears of mirth in her eyes as Shadow Weaver smiled secretly. </p>
<p>It was then that she knew what she could do. Knew what lengths she would go. </p>
<p>She couldn’t be there for Micah and Angella. Couldn’t be there for Etheria. But she could be here for Glimmer. </p>
<p>It was the least she could do for Micah and Angella. And Glimmer.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Happy Birthday Shadow Weaver</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The Horde didn't celebrate birthdays for a reason, but after years being given her birthday and hardly celebrating them... Catra has something to say to Shadow Weaver.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>One has to wonder why the Horde never celebrated birthdays. Certainly, it couldn’t have been too much of a distraction and one had to wonder why the Horde would pass up an opportunity to boost the morale of their army. Had it always been this way? How long had the Horde been around? Was it a decision Hordak made? </p><p>The answer, unsurprisingly, came from the Second-in-Command of the Horde - and more closely associated - leader, Shadow Weaver. While Hordak was the face of the invading forces, the sorceress of infamous renown was the oil and cogs of the machine and as such… made it clear why the Horde did not employ such useless morale boosting methods. </p><p>She remembered when a soldier had come to her from the far-away kingdom of Plumeria - ignorant as they were of the Horde’s methods - and had suggested they celebrate birthdays to help encourage soldiers. Shadow Weaver’s response was sharp, cutting and easily ended the conversation from ever being brought up in the future. </p><p>
  <em>”What use is there to celebrate a day of the year when you were born when nothing constructive comes from it? Accomplishments are worthy of celebration. Achievements are worthy of celebration. Celebrations are to be earned… not given freely without meaning.”</em>
</p><p>For years, she made it <em>very</em> clear that there would be NO birthdays within the Horde. When Adora and Catra came into the mix, she was like the shadow and shades in every corner of the mechanical kingdom - dissuading any who would try to poison her ward’s minds with useless frivolity. Until Adora’s 5th year, this was a rather successful mission…</p><p>Until Catra, curious and insolent as she was, found out about birthdays from talkative soldiers and had actually ‘cornered’ Shadow Weaver with incessant questions about it. </p><p>‘When was I born?!’<br/>‘When was Adora born?!’<br/>‘What is a birthday?!’<br/>‘What do you do on a birthday?!’</p><p>On and on Catra had gone, hardly having been with the Horde for two years and knowing better than to question any of the adults until finally... Shadow Weaver was without patience for the rambunctious kitten.</p><p>“There IS no birthday for you! You were not <em>born</em> to horde, child!”</p><p>No sooner had the word left her mouth did Catra feel just as dejected as the day she’d been found by the Horde. As if to apologize, Shadow Weaver had attempted to console the child - if anything to make certain Adora was not brought down by Catra’s abysmal depression. </p><p>For a half hour, Shadow Weaver instructed Catra in the most clinical manner possible what a birthday was, why some might celebrate it… and why there was no place for it within the Horde. When Catra seemed satisfied that her questions were answered and had even graced the sorceress with a… hug, for some reason, Shadow Weaver was quick to admonish her but give one last morsel of information.</p><p>A gift. One she could never boast of.</p><p>She gave Catra a birthday. It was a meaningless thing, for the most part, but it was a small connection (the only connection) she was willing to impart upon Catra but when she saw how often she’d made Adora happy… Well, there were some exceptions to be made, even in the Horde.</p><p>Years later, as young adults, Catra had asked a dangerous question. </p><p>It had been only days after Adora had defected and Catra was becoming more and more bold by the days since her ‘promotion’ to Force Captain, “When’s your birthday, Shadow Weaver?” </p><p>She had been staring into her scrying bowl, slowly turning her head to glare at Catra, “What?” She barked.</p><p>The manner in which Catra shrunk away was placating but she repeated, “Y’know, you’re uh… when you were born? You gave me one but don’t you have one?” </p><p>She waited a long moment before giving a non-answer, “I’ve got a mission for you, Catra. One I think you’ll enjoy,” It was a simple diversion and one she could tell annoyed the brat. “You like the skiffs, correct? <em>Clean them.</em> I will inspect them later and if they’re not SPOTLESS? You’ll do it again.” </p><p>“WHAT?! AUGH! What EVER!” Catra groaned, stomping away and making a mental note NEVER to ask the old hag about her birthday ever again. <br/>…<br/>..<br/>.</p><p>Much and more time had passed since then and, against all odds, Shadow Weaver had come back from her decisive death sentence and had been an accomplice in many more extensive adventures that destroyed the expectations of the ‘impossible’. Saving Etheria from Prime, using her knowledge of the arcane after coming back to life to bring Angella from the border between the portal dimension… among other things</p><p>In addition, her time had been quite educational in other subjects that she had, in the past, never given even a modicum of thought to before. While she knew <em>what</em> birthdays were and why they were celebrated, Shadow Weaver hardly held any sort of love for them. Why would she when the most important part of having a birthday was absent for her? Still, as she’d remained in the shadows of Castle Bright Moon, the subject of the frivolous occasion was involuntarily taught to her. </p><p>Adora had given her the basic breakdown of the process, once more making her proud as she’d learned enough to have given even her own mother-figure a proper lesson. </p><p>Glimmer had unwittingly recruited her in the process of decorating for a party, while also attempting to interrogate her for information. Alas, Glimmer was only able to get so much blood from a stone. </p><p>And Catra… well, Catra played the part of reminding her that birthdays actually meant something to people that cared. It was a statement sent with as much vitriol as possible and in spite of her annoyance… Shadow Weaver didn’t feel the need to retort as defensively as she once had. </p><p>The Horde was disbanded. <br/>Her time as an evil sorceress had come and gone - along with many of the desires that had encouraged her career path.<br/>And, most important… Shadow Weaver had realized and come to begrudgingly apologize - for whatever it was worth - to Catra. </p><p>The lack of acceptance was expected and Shadow Weaver was reminded that these things took time. </p><p>Still, as a response, she’d wished Catra a ‘happy birthday’ - just as Adora and Glimmer had taught her.</p><p>They had instructed her to give Catra a gift as well, but Shadow Weaver was certain a physical gift would not have sufficed or been appreciated. </p><p> A fortnight later, Shadow Weaver was tucked away in the garden and ignorant to any goings-on in the world. She rather liked it that way these days and found herself watching the time pass quickly until dawn had come and gone and dusk settled over the horizon with the three moons overhead. </p><p>Contendly, she sighed and gathered her garden tools to put them away - passing by her font of focus that now stood as a memorial to her death on the eve of Etheria’s rescue. When she’d returned to settle a debt and found the memorial, she didn’t have the heart to break it down and return her font to its former functionality. Beyond the shocking and surreal knowledge that anyone had actually missed her… it was an important reminder for her to walk by the broken pieces of her mask and stay focused on her new path. </p><p>With so many now vocal about their belief in her betterment… failure was not an option, now more than ever.</p><p>However, before she’d reached the mouth of the Gardens, a familiar furred figure was standing against the doorway, leaning with her arms crossed and a petulant frown on her face. </p><p>“Catra,” Shadow Weaver greeted, receiving an ear-twitch in response. </p><p>“Com with me,” She ordered, prompting a curious cock of a brow from the sorceress. </p><p>“... Very well, then.” She’s grown used to the manner in which Catra had ‘requested’ things and knew that it was more a matter of taking control and leading the way after years of having said power wretched from her within the Horde. Her patience with Catra was an important concession for that… particular healing process. </p><p>Silently, Catra had led her to an area away from the Gardens - a small gathering of bushes just before the edge of the Castle ended. Shadow Weaver watched, curious, as Catra seemed to check if they were followed before turning to her and crouching down in her typical sitting posture. Shadow Weaver followed, her attention focused on the rather concerning behavior that she’d only seen displayed when Catra was on edge. </p><p>“What has come over you?” </p><p>“Don’t worry about it!” Catra hissed, ears down and her face a tinge of red that seemed out of place for the situation at hand. “Look, I know I’ve asked this question before and… and you didn’t answer because she didn’t have to or whatever, but now I-” Shadow Weaver, only slightly confused, had an idea where this was going and gave a sigh.</p><p>She helped alleviate some of the awkward hesitation, “You want to know about my ‘birthday’... correct?” </p><p>For a brief moment, Catra felt intimidated by how sharp Shadow Weaver was and swallowed nervously but nodded. Seeing her mother-figure’s face made it easier to push past the fear that came with the mask but Shadow Weaver was still a very imposing figure. </p><p>Uncertainly exactly how to answer this, Shadow Weaver ran a clawed hand through her hair before speaking frankly, “You want that truth, I assume… I do not have a birthday, Catra. I never have and, to this day, believe I never will.” Once more, as it always came whenever she rarely spoke about herself, a painful tightening began in her chest. She fought it off, looking away toward the Whispering Woods near the Castle. </p><p>“What? What do you mean? You were born, weren’t you?” Catra asked, more confused than concerned. </p><p>“Of course I was born,” Shadow Weaver chuckled, unable to resist the urge to scathingly tease the girl, “-foolishness doesn’t suit you, Catra.” The brief glare helped to bring her into familiar territory. “For one to possess a birthday… one must have parents to give them such. As your… ‘legal guardian’ at the time, I was empowered to give you your birthday. As a child, however, I was not so lucky.” </p><p>The pain was a dull, bittersweet feeling and one she’d grown accustomed to, even if she’d hoped to have become numb to it decades ago. </p><p>Catra, as expected, was just as sharp as her mother-figure and just as biting, “So, like, you just decided that because you didn’t have birthday no one in the Horde would celebrate their birthday, either?” Catra scoffed, earning a grin from the sorceress that confused her.</p><p>“That’s right. I trust you remember my lessons?”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah ‘what use is there to celebrate a day when you were born?’ But here’s a newsflash, old woman - it’s NICE to celebrate existing! Have you ever thought about that?! What about maybe celebrating ADORA’S existence?! WHY-?!” Just as quickly as her hurtful rage and anger had come, Catra found herself struggling to reign it back in and stopped suddenly to pinch the bridge of her nose. Shadow Weaver, meanwhile, had taken to accepting Catra’s now-and-then aggressions, smirking patiently as she waited for her to regain her composure. </p><p>“What I mean to say… is that celebrating being alive is… it’s a good thing. Something I wished <em>you</em> would have done for me and Adora. I didn’t-” She growled, tail lashing back and forth from the wrestle of emotions as Catra seemed to struggle to get to her point. “I think I knew that you… like, either didn’t have one or didn’t like it - something like that, but when YOU of all people told me ‘Happy Birthday’ I…” She stopped, sounding as if she were choking on something and Shadow Weaver’s smirk fell instantly. </p><p>This wasn’t amusing anymore. “Catra, you don’t have to continue. I-”</p><p>“Shut up!” Catra snapped, tears clearly evident in her eyes as she stood from the ground and hovered over Shadow Weaver,  “I’m doing this for you and, more importantly, I’m doing this for ME! So just-!” She clenched her fists, arms shaking as she finally managed to get it out, “Let me do this for you… okay?” </p><p>By this point, Shadow Weaver was <em>extremely<em> confused and cautiously gave a nod. </em></em></p><p>
  <em>
    <em>From seemingly nowhere, Catra sat back down and produced… a curiously wrapped package - lumpy on one side but taped rather expertly. Tentatively, Shadow Weaver reached for the parcel, glancing between Catra and the package suspiciously before it was held in two hands silently. </em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>For a long moment, as if neither were sure what was supposed to happen next, they said nothing before it was Catra that scoffed, “You just gonna stare at it?” </em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“You want me to open it? Here? Now?” Shadow Weaver questioned, uncertain and uncharacteristically off-balance. </em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“Well, I don’t want you to just throw it somewhere! Open it!” Catra yelled, earning a few looks from the guards stationed at the door yards away, but thankfully not enough to have them come investigate. </em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>With a single nail, Shadow Weaver carefully carved away the packaging to reveal… an article of clothing. As deep red as the Horde dress she once more, she peeled away the packaging to reveal a cloak, sewn together exquisitely to include a collar similar to one she once wore before. Her clothes had been so soil, destroyed and carried the weight of decades of her pain that she’d abandoned them in order to move from her unhealthy nature.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>While similar in design, holding them up to see it in all its detail, a single emblem stood out in the contrast of red and yellow… a symbol of Catra’s recently discovered clan, embroidered in the design. </em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Throat tied in knots as Shadow Weaver recalled her brief venture with the Magicats, Catra took this moment to sit up and gently push the gift held in Shadow Weaver’s hand towards her chest. Her expression mirrored the pain and difficulty she waded through as she spoke, “I… <em>want</em> to celebrate you being around. Even if it hurts. So… I’m making today your birthday.” She glared, “So <em>Happy Birthday</em>, Shadow Weaver.” </em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Staring at Catra as tried to comprehend just what was happening and… how to respond, Shadow Weaver’s mouth would move as if she were trying to say something but no words would come out. </em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Today? HER birthday? What- She- How?! You couldn’t just-</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>And yet, she had to remind herself again and again. This isn’t the Horde. They aren’t children anymore and… everything was different now. Still, knowing all of this, it didn’t make it any easier to try and speak words. The silence had stretched for so long that Catra felt the visceral pain of regret beginning to scratch at her and swallowed thickly. </em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“Aren’t you going to say anything?” Catra whispered, her voice on the edge of barely suppressed tears.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>To that, Shadow Weaver realized that wasn’t anything left to say. What words could express the emotions she was feeling from this gift of gifts she would have never expected?</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Dropping the dress to bunch in her lap, Shadow Weaver reached for Catra’s arm and pulled her forward in a fluid motion into an embrace - wrapping one arm around her shoulders and resting her other hand on the back of Catra’s head. Softly, not trusting her own emotionally-compromised voice, Shadow Weaver whispered. </em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em><em>”Thank you… Catra,”</em> Shocked and petrified by the unfamiliar embrace, Catra felt Shadow Weaver’s arms around her tighten but not painfully. The tightness felt… nice. Warm. “Thank you,” Shadow Weaver repeated again.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Catra hesitated for only a moment before allowing her own arms around her and nuzzling into the crook of Shadow Weaver’s neck, a soft purring vibrating between the two. </em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>”Don’t mention it.” </em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>…<br/>..<br/>.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>It would be some time later when, walking from her room redressed, Shadow Weaver would make her way to the dining hall to ‘raid the kitchen’ as Glimmer put it - dinner came and gone. Much of the Castle was darkened in the night as she felt suitably hidden from peering eyes as she snuck into the dining room on her way to the royal kitchen,</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>She’d hardly made it three paces in the dark dining hall when suddenly the lights would be flipped on and a rancorous symphony of cries rang out from various people in the room. </em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <strong>“SURPRISE!”</strong>
    </em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>With eyes wide and pressed to the wall in shocked fear, Shadow Weaver gradually recognized that she wasn’t being assassinated and looked between the various faces of amusement and laughter. Glimmer, teleporting in front of her, laughed as she grasp her hand, “Catra told us it was your birthday and - not to be arrogant about it, but-” Glimmer puffed out her chest, “I’m great at birthdays and we wanted to throw you your FIRST birthday!”</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“...You… really needn’t have,” </em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Castaspella scoffed, walking up to her, “Honestly, you’re in no position to tell us what you need. Honestly, you’ve <em>never</em> had a birthday?! I’m certain that’s breaking a law somewhere!” </em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Shadow Weaver raised a brow, giving the sorceress an amused chuckle, “I’m sure it would be if YOU ruled Etheria. Aren’t we all lucky you just rule Mystacor?”</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“Ugh, don’t remind me!” </em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Angella’s voice carried over, “We don’t have all night, Glimmer! Important meeting in the morning, remember?” To which Glimmer would give a frustrated groan and yell back ‘UGH! I KNOW!’ And before Shadow Weaver could retort, was teleported into the fray of her party. </em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>The first of many that she was certain Glimmer would plan.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>All the while, Catra and Adora would watch from a distance with their hands held together; their own wish to see what Shadow Weaver would be like… ‘happy’ coming true.</em>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Happy Birthday Shadow Weaver!! Also, I've thrown in some hints future plot points in 'Shadows of the Day' - because ya'll know how much I like tying these stories together!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. A New Era Among the Stars</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>On their way to find the key to defeating Prime, Shadow Weaver and Castaspella find a symbol of hope... above them the whole time.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Inspired by AMAZING art by: https://tyra004.tumblr.com/post/637252277729624064/shadow-weaver-and-castaspella-under-the-stars-3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The nights within the Whispering Woods were cold and, as usual, no less perilous than Shadow Weaver had always narrated it to be. It was neither an issue or a difficult task for two sorceresses of renown, but it was no less wise to keep their wits about them. More so now as Shadow Weaver traveled with her face bare to the world for the first time in a long <em>long</em> while. The fault of that… or rather whom-</p><p>A loud sneeze sounded from the shorter woman, an unladylike sniff following suit as Castaspella held herself as they trekked. Shadow Weaver cast a side-long look at her, eyebrow cocked upwards unsympathetically. </p><p>As if she was expecting the look, Castaspella glanced back at her and glared at the look she was given, “...What?”</p><p>“That’s the seventh time you’ve sneezed in the last half hour. We still have a day’s journey to go,” Shadow Weaver stated matter-of-factly, enjoying the squawk of disbelief. </p><p>“I can’t just STOP it! It’s cold, Shadow Weaver. Sneezing is <em>natural</em>,” She scoffed, looking ahead to focus on walking as she muttered under her breath. “It’s abhorrent that I could be catching a cold right on the eve of the world ending. How <em>wonderful.”</em> Not only that but they were travelling uphill and if she thought just trekking through the forest was difficult, this was absolute torture. </p><p>Shadow Weaver, on the other hand, was appearing as she was largely unaffected and - to an extent - she was. Their coupling mere hours ago was not just an enjoyable distraction but a practical one and she was still well-rested from their brief sleep. Shadow Weaver reflected on just how often she didn’t get much sleep within the Horde, always having to watch her back and the backs of others to make certain they weren’t doing something traitorous or foolish. </p><p>Honestly, it eluded her why no one was ever grateful for her work. Not within Mystacor and never within the Horde… </p><p>As she silently ruminated, Shadow Weaver almost didn’t catch sight of Castaspella breathing heavily, giving pause to take in her laughably worn state. <em>What an embarrassment…</em> She thought silently to herself, thankful for the many years of strenuous activity that she shared in her cadets over the years. </p><p>Still, it ate at some part of her that either detested incompetence… or pitied the woman. </p><p>Either way, surely, her drive for progress was justification for her generosity. </p><p>Stepping up to where Castaspella had begun to lean on a barely standing tree, Shadow Weaver was quick to bring an arm around the Head Sorceress’ waist, ignoring the squeak of surprise.</p><p>“What are you doing?!” Castaspella strained, seeming to struggle with getting enough air. </p><p>“Helping you. Don’t overthink it and just keep going,” Shadow Weaver stated, infuriatingly condescending and leaving little room to argue, “There’s an outcrop we can settle on until we can continue. It’s <em>clear</em> to me that you’re not <em>conditioned</em> for rough terrain.” </p><p>Castaspella grumbled, incensed but far too tired and exhausted to refuse as every muscle in her legs and arms felt as though they were on fire. “L-Lead on, then…” She hoped that her quickly warming face was a result of her condition and not some evidence of being caught off guard by the shockingly strong arm supporting her back. </p><p>Briefly, Castaspella is reminded that she… has never seen Shadow Weaver without her clothes and felt a little cheated at that fact. </p><p>As they finished ascending the sharp include of the mountain, the shine of the moons’ above lighting their way, it would become clear that the illumination was actually so much more radiant. Once they broke through the line of trees to oversee the lower elevation of the forest, Castaspella’s gaze would become magnetically entranced by the scene cast out before her. </p><p>She’d seen the stars, briefly, before the invasion of Prime’s forces but… she never got to <em>really</em> look at them. The bed of deep fuschia and lavender that always served as a backdrop to the Moons was now joined by a startling array of stars that glittered as jewels and gems in the sky. More so when the clear evidence of some… cloudy space dust seemed to invite her to stare in mesmerized and curious wonder. Shadow Weaver’s words echoed from Bright Moon’s ‘prison’, reminding her that Etheria for hundreds of years had never seen the stars - never knowing a universe beyond their grasp until this terrible and rare turn of events.</p><p>As for Shadow Weaver… she silently shared in a similar experience, staring out among the bed of stars and space dust that seemed to only amplify the Moons’ she cherished so much. </p><p>She would have liked to have imbibed in a prayer, were it not for her current company. </p><p>As the moment of wonder passed, Shadow Weaver would glance back at Castaspella before using her strength to usher her forward and abandon her grasp on Castaspella with uncaring grace. She had a brand to upkeep after all and taking satisfaction in Castaspella glaring up at her was just one of those ‘little blessings’. “Oh, stow the look and rest while you can; we’ll not stay the night here as we did before.” </p><p>Right on cue, Castaspella huffed and looked away - thoroughly embarrassed, “I wasn’t-! Ohhh, you’re such a…a-!” She held her hands up, fingers spread as if she wanted to throttle the sorceress. </p><p>Shadow Weaver sat down, amused, “Go on,” She gestured with a hand expectantly in a final jab.</p><p>Castaspella leaned forward, hissing the word as if it were a powerful curse, <strong>“-bitch.”</strong> </p><p>The resounding laughter that came from Shadow Weaver was chilling, terrifying and enrapturing all at once and Castaspella found that loved and hated it. “Oh, I don’t think I could find a better source of entertainment if I tried.” </p><p>With an exasperated sigh, Castaspella decided that she just didn’t have the desire to push back against Shadow Weaver right now and fan the flames of their shaky animosity-turned-truce. Instead, she turned back to the stars above and let their splendor whisk her away in wonder. Her mind drifted, face softening as she brought her hands up to warm her arms from the biting chill. </p><p>Silently, a little disappointed that Castaspella had moved on so quickly, Shadow Weaver observed the motion before returning her own gaze to the sky. </p><p>For a long handful of moments, long enough to have felt heavy with a desire to break the silence, neither said anything until Castaspella released an audible sound of discomfort and brought her legs up to hold them. </p><p>“... Shadow Weaver?”</p><p>“Hm,” The Sorceress acknowledged passively. </p><p>Castaspella hesitated before continuing her oddly spontaneous question, “Do… Do you think we’ll make it through this?” The question came out softer than she had intended, strained with emotion. </p><p>Still, it elicited Shadow Weaver to turn her head to look at her. She thought for a moment, gathering her words before laying it all out bare in her typical fashion, “We may lose people. Important loved ones. Family… Perhaps even our own lives in the bid to save Etheria…” A soft sigh could be heard passing through her nose, “-the world will survive, but we must be prepared to act. To make sacrifices so that the many will live on and… the magic of Etheria isn’t lost forever.” </p><p>Castaspella thought about the response, remembering what Adora had told her about her ‘mother figure’ before making an observation, “That’s not really an answer.” </p><p>Shadow Weaver grinned behind the mask, head tilted in Castaspella’s direction, “I see Adora has spoken about me… Heh, I suppose I can give you a transparent answer - <em>this one time.</em>” She held her head up high, gazing at the most powerful moon in all this crimson spendor. “Yes. Some of us will make it through to see the salvation of Etheria. It is, however, a mystery as to whom…” </p><p>With a raised eyebrow, Castaspella took the answer and followed Shadow Weaver’s gaze. </p><p>Another bit of silence passed, a little less cumbersome between them. </p><p>Until a sneeze broke it and Castaspella released a frustrated sound of annoyance. However, instead of the biting insult she expected from Shadow Weaver, Castaspella was dizzyingly grasped behind the shoulders before she felt the warmth of soft magic… along with the embrace of red robes. </p><p>Castaspella looked up, painfully aware of how close they were, but Shadow Weaver didn’t allow her inane questions, “I won’t have you dying here. Not when we’ve come this far…” In spite of the clearly intended insult, Castaspella felt something off about it; like the words didn’t match the actions. </p><p>Still, the warmth had her quickly losing interest in whatever reasoning Shadow Weaver had and simply looked back toward the stars with a secret smile. “Whatever you say.” </p><p>Maybe she could sneak in a nap after making a few constellations.</p><p>Out of spite, of course.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Catrastrophe</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A look into only a handful of encounters Shadow Weaver had with the illustrious Catra Applause Meowmeow in her kitten-phase; a series of experiences that would ultimately dictate our favorite Magicat's formative years.</p><p>Or</p><p>The many disastrous experiences of having a kitten that Shadow Weaver didn't expect to deal with.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>For 15 years Shadow Weaver took care of the little curr known as Catra Applesauce Meowmeow; appropriately named by her protege since she couldn’t be bothered to come up with a name for the furball in a box. Still, she persevered and demonstrated patience when she was sure to lose her mind and throw the little beast in the wilds where it belonged. </p><p>Still… even Shadow Weaver wasn’t sure how she did it. </p><p>…<br/>
..<br/>
.</p><p>She had no idea where a thing like Catra was supposed to sleep, but seeing as she’d taken responsibility to take care of Adora and her, it seemed only natural that she had to stay with her. Little did she know that the very rare hours of sleep that Shadow Weaver would get in the wee hours late at night were soon going to be a thing of history. </p><p>Once she’d laid down, mask settled on the table beside her, the sorceress swore that only five or so minutes had passed before a soft trilling sound was heard. Her brow furrowed, never having heard that before. </p><p>In her arms, protective of the small three year old, Adora shifted but didn’t wake. </p><p>She ignored the sound, soon beginning to drift off once more.</p><p>Until…</p><p>With a sudden shift of the bed, Catra pounced along the blanket with a soft ‘mrrrooww!’ before rushing away again - eliciting an enraged expression from the aghast but unmoving woman. <em>What… the fuck?</em> </p><p>When it happened again, the insolent kitten having actually BOUNCED off her head, Shadow Weaver released a snarled hiss - trying not to wake Adora, <em><strong>”BED!”</strong></em> </p><p>And for a long moment, glowing red eyes boring into the darkness, there was peaceful silence. </p><p>Heart-rate slowing, Shadow Weaver calmed enough to close her eyes. </p><p>Then the fucking cat began to yowl. </p><p>
  <em>This was a mistake.</em>
</p><p>…<br/>
..<br/>
.</p><p>All cadets had to acquire the taste of ration bars. There was no getting out of it since they were a staple for the militarized organization. Thankfully, she’d not run into any occurrences of allergic reactions from anyone. </p><p>… until now, apparently.</p><p>It was during a routine inspection of the skifs, something Shadow Weaver was still in charge of overseeing until the newest recruits under the maintenance procedures involved. Catra and Adora, still far too young to be left alone, were naturally at her heels in a manner of speaking after their first lunch in the mess hall. </p><p>Adora seemed to enjoy her bar, albit messily - with a preference of the gray variation. Catra, without much issue, scarfed her’s down with minimal food aggression. A harmless flick to the ear was enough to punish the kitten after snatching the bar from her hands. </p><p>However, as she was finishing her inspection, a curious but alarming sound caught her attention. </p><p>Followed by a soldier hesitantly calling out, “Uh.. M’am, is she okay?” </p><p>Turning around, Shadow Weaver was deeply disturbed to see Catra on the ground on all fours, her body undulating rather oddly as Adora just stared in childlike curiosity with her blanket in her arms. </p><p>When she realized what was happening, Shadow Weaver’s eyes widened, “NO! Not on the floor-!” Unfortunately too late to stop the disgusting combination of green ration combined with… hair? - from being ejected from the child and onto the ground with a stomach churning SPLAT. </p><p>As if it wasn’t bad enough that Catra had vomited on the floor some unholy amalgamation of what she ate - the damn cat took off at a sprint down the hall with claws scrambling along the metal at break-neck speed. </p><p>Shadow Weaver held a hand to her mask with a groan, the other in a fist shaking with barely suppressed rage.</p><p>
  <em>Why did I let Adora keep her?</em>
</p><p>…<br/>
..<br/>
.</p><p>Adora had fallen from a rather large crate, a large bruise of her forehead where she’d landed glaring out at her as Shadow Weaver gave a beleaguered sigh, “What have I told you about trying to emulate Catra?” She chided gently, hardly upset with Adora as much as she was with the cat that was conveniently missing. </p><p>Once they returned to her room, intent to ease the child’s crying with a ration bar, Shadow Weaver was met with a sight that made her blood run cold. </p><p>Catra had returned to her room, staring at her with wide eyes, as she was crouched over an extra Horde dress she’d painstakingly put together. Her heart clenched seeing the sharp claws dug deep into the ALREADY ripped cloth. </p><p>Adora in her arms still sobbing and unaware of the unforgivable crime committed, Shadow Weaver could only hiss, “Get your claws out of that! <strong>Now</strong>!” </p><p>Only for Catra to aggressively continue to claw at the clothing as if spurred on by the sorceress’ ire. Only when Shadow Weaver floated over quickly to Catra did she scramble away, taking a piece of her dress with her and hiding in some dark crevice. </p><p>Staring at her ruined back-up dress, Shadow Weaver’s hair would appear to float wildly in anger before she set Adora down on the bed and gave her a ration bar. Sitting beside her, the sorceress took off her mask to pinch the bridge of her nose and scowl with annoyance in the direction Catra hid herself. </p><p>
  <em>She will be the death of me.</em>
</p><p>…<br/>
..<br/>
.</p><p>Of all the very treasured rituals Shadow Weaver held close to her heart and ultimately hidden away from prying eyes - making tea was the most coveted and sacred to her. Every morning, before the recruits were roused by the alarms to begin their ablutions and drills, Shadow Weaver dedicated time to starting her day right. </p><p>Within her chambers, she’d used the scrying bowl to mix and heat her tea to perfection - echinacea and ginger already considered contraband that had to be hidden with magic. </p><p>Previously, her ritual was uninterrupted and the most peaceful time of the day.</p><p>As she finished adding the dash of ginger to her tea, Shadow Weaver was only barely aware of the rapid clack of claws against the metal before she gave a sudden sharp cry and groan of pain as the kitten rushed up her dress and dug her claws in her shoulder to observe what she was making, “Ugh! <em>Catra!</em>” She hissed between clenched teeth, just before the kitten began to incessantly rub her face against the sorceress’ hair. </p><p>Grumbling but not wanting to ruin her tea in favor of throwing the cat to the ground, Shadow Weaver put her cup together and carefully stepped away from the scrying bowl with an abysmal expression. </p><p>She’d barely managed to bring the cup to her face when Catra leaned forward and reached out, grasping her hand with little clawed fingers to pull the cup to her face and curiously sniff the contents. While Shadow Weaver was fiercely protective of her tea and certainly didn’t share with anyone, the sorceress couldn’t ignore her own curiosity as Catra dipped her tongue in for a taste. </p><p>She was both amused and disappointed when the young kitten scrunched her face up in disgust and licked her dress to try and rid her tongue of the taste. “Enough of that!” She admonished coarsely before sharply cuffing the kitten over the ear - prompting Catra to jump off and land on the bed with a yelp. </p><p>Shadow Weaver glared down at the girl for a moment before giving the tea a long look of defeat and begrudgingly taking a sip. This tea was far too precious to waste on being worried over germs. </p><p>Passively, she reached for the painful scratch on the back of her shoulder with a grimace. </p><p><em>You’ll regret making a scratching post of me yet, demon child.</em><br/>
…<br/>
..<br/>
.</p><p>All she wanted after joining the Horde and rising to the rank of Second in Command of it’s army was the promise of power and the respect that came with it. Something Mystacor never afforded her. Little did she know, such lofty ambitions were hand-in-hand with the incredible stress and many sleepless nights that came with it. Often, she needed the resolve and confidence that only liquid spirits could give her and had stashed away a bottle for just such purposes. </p><p>A glass of distilled wine sat on the work table next to files that were in immediate need of organization. Occasionally, she would take a sip of it as she worked and reveled in the warm buzz that came.</p><p>However, before she could get another sip, a sudden cry from Adora would interrupt her work as she came rushing into the Black Garnet chamber with a scratch on her arm. </p><p>Concerned but well aware of whom the culprit could be, Shadow Weaver stood from her chair and met Adora half way to crouch and look over the scratch. The child sniffled, but didn’t rat out the miscreant, “I-.... I fell and h-hit a sharp thing, Sh-Shadow Weaver,” She fibbed. Shadow Weaver narrowed her eyes upon her but didn’t say anything, standing up to lead Adora over to her bed where she kept the med kit. </p><p>“Running in the corridors when I told you not to?” Shadow Weaver played along, her tone tender as she admonished Adora. </p><p>“Y-Yes m’am. I’m sorry,” Adora nodded, a smile on her face as her story wasn’t questioned. </p><p>With a shake of her head, Shadow Weaver was in the midst of putting ointment on the scratches when the sound of claws on metal caught her attention. She turned back to her table. </p><p>There, sitting on the surface next to her wine glass and looking at her with a passive expression… was Catra.</p><p>Sharply, Shadow Weaver narrowed her eyes behind the mask - silently commanding Catra to stay exactly where she was - intent to punish her for making Adora take the fall for her crass behavior. </p><p>Catra looked down at the glass. </p><p>Shadow Weaver’s eyes widened, glancing at Adora’s wound for a split moment before she quickly turned back to see Catra leaning forward to sniff the liquid. “Catra-” </p><p>The kitten looked back up at her, acknowledged and - therefore - encouraged to continue. She moved her hand over to the glass, even as Shadow Weaver continued.</p><p>“Don’t. Touch. That Glass.” </p><p>Her little hand stopped in mid-air, obviously understanding what was being said. </p><p>Before she quickly knocked the glass to the ground. </p><p>A long, thick silence stretched between them. Then, simultaneously, Shadow Weaver and Adora both yelled and whined, respectively-</p><p><strong>“CATRA!”</strong><br/>
<em>“Catraaaa~!”</em> </p><p>And off Catra went, a grin on her face as Shadow Weaver held a tightly clenched fist with red electricity arcing as her shadows darkened. </p><p><em>I’ll kill her.</em><br/>
…<br/>
..<br/>
.</p><p>The screens where Hordak occasionally checked in on her were quite high, though pipes and various wires did frame their positions while hanging above the Black Garnet. Often, Shadow Weaver would use the screens to communicate her progress on various activities to alleviate any paranoia or boredom Hordak seemed to become possessed of. </p><p>On this day, thankfully, there were no scheduled calls beyond the one she was currently engaged in. Adora and Catra were sent off to be supervised by a force captain whilst she finished her report. </p><p>She had no idea that Catra had evaded her sentinel and had rushed back to the Black Garnet chamber, lying in wait… </p><p>“I’m certain the Rebellion will fall by the end of the year, Lord Hordak. They’re helpless without a leader and Bright Moon remains without a King or a Queen.” </p><p>“I remain unconvinced but you shall have your chance, Shadow Weaver.” </p><p>It was mere moments before their conversation was coming to an end that Shadow Weaver heard a familiar and chilling sound:</p><p>Claws on metal. </p><p>As discreetly as possible, Shadow Weaver glanced around the room in search of the little kitten. Why NOW of all times did she decide to invade her sanctum?! </p><p>“What is it, Shadow Weaver?” Hordak questioned, noticing that she was distracted. </p><p>She returned her attention to him, “Nothing, My Lord. Likely a malfunction that requires maintenance. I shall send-” She stopped as another sound, much louder this time, echoed from above behind her and Shadow Weaver turned completely to see Catra staring with pinnacle focus at the screen - at least twenty feet from the ground and clutching precariously on a pipe adjacent to the screen Hordak was appearing on. </p><p>“Is that your ward, Shadow Weaver?” He asked, tone colored with interest as Shadow Weaver groaned. </p><p>“Yes. I shall discipline her accordingly after I bring her down. Please forgive her insolence,” And just as Shadow Weaver was calling upon the power of the Black Garnet, Catra leaned down into what looked like an attack position-</p><p>A VERY familiar one, her butt wiggling with purpose as Shadow Weaver barely had a chance to call out her name before Catra bound through the air with feline grace…</p><p>Only to smash head-first into the screen and shatter it in a flurry of electrical sparks and yowling screams of pain. The room descended into darkness, Hordak’s reaction left to speculation as silence echoed with exception to a few hissing sparks. </p><p>Only Shadow Weaver’s sigh of resignation as she called for supernatural illumination signaled that she was the only soul cognizant in the room. Gliding over to the unconscious body of Catra that suffered some pretty terrible burns along her arms, Shadow Weaver would allow this experience to take the place of the kitten’s punishment.</p><p>- following a VERY severe warning should she <em>ever</em> invade her sanctum ever again. Her last tiresome thought as Shadow Weaver held the limp girl in her hands and floated toward the infirmary were dangerously prophetic. </p><p>
  <em>If I ever have to deal with another of your kind Catra… it will be too soon.</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>HMMMM. I wonder if Shadow Weaver will ever meet with another of Catra's people again.<br/>We'll just have to see, won't we? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Winter's Riposte</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>While Castaspella works tirelessly on decorating for the newest celebration, Shadow Weaver is having her own struggles on this day. When the Best Friend Squad returns early from their adventure to Eternia, however, things take a rather interesting turn!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Twas the morning of the Etherian ‘Riposte’ and many of the inhabitants of Bright Moon were hard at work finishing the preparations of the celebration. Many had come from all over Etheria to share in the great festivities that had made the Kingdom explode with popularity. Of course, it would also be the decree of the Queen that her subjects arrange and enjoy the celebration <em>in honor of her</em> - even if she currently wasn’t planet-side. </p><p>Adora, Bow, Glimmer and Catra had all been in space - chronicling their journey along the way to Adora’s birth planet - Eternia. Naturally, Entrapta had outfitted the ship with long-range communications so everyone in the royal family was aware that they were safe and sound as they made contact with the Eternians.</p><p>However, on Etheria, there were problems of their own that they were handling. </p><p>“Hmmm...No. No roses! Too sad; get rid of them!” Castaspella huffed, shaking her head as the assistants she’d hired gave her a withering look before taking the rose garlands down. With a groan of frustration, Castaspella walked away with her arms crossed, “This has to be PERFECT! Why can’t anything look right?!” </p><p>From the dark of rare shadows, the very last person Castaspella wanted to hear made themselves known, “Have you considered not micromanaging yourself? While not typically possible, you do tend to make the impossible <em>quite possible</em>,” It was a backhanded compliment and one expertly designed to be cryptically undicernable between an insult… or an adulation. </p><p>Castaspella turned to Shadow Weaver, eyebrow raised at the new mask she sported, “I don’t have time for your biting words right now, Shadow. Why not help me with the streamers-?” She gestured upward towards perfectly arranged streamers.</p><p>Shadow Weaver raised an unseen brow at the display before turning to her, “And what - may I ask - is the issue with them?” </p><p>“‘What’s wrong-?!’ LOOK at them! They’re clearly off by seven degrees!”</p><p><em>So, you’ll pay attention to the angle of streamers but not to the abhorrent asymmetry in your spells. Noted.</em> Shadow Weaver scoffed, crossing her own arms. “They’re <em>fine</em>, Casta. Not everything has to be exactly as you desire it,” Shadow Weaver spoke from experience, having tried and succeeded for years in crafting the most loyal and powerful soldier out of her own daughter, only to lose more than she intended to gain when she lacked the wisdom to see her error.</p><p>In response, Castaspella naturally couldn’t see past her own hubris, “What would you know about what’s ‘fine’! You have the stylist fashion sense of a bog witch!” </p><p>The gasp that came was most certainly overdramatized, even if it hid actual pain, “That didn’t stop you a bit, did it?”</p><p>Clearly, whatever was going on with Castaspella however - wasn’t going to put up with any of Shadow Weaver’s attempts to lighten the mood - however poor they were, “Just GO, or do something useful like staying out of my way! I’m going to make this perfect for my niece and if you’re not going to help me, <em>just go</em>!” And without a care to her words or how they affected Shadow Weaver, Castaspella was off to try and solve the mystery of the dinner menu. </p><p>For a long moment, only her mouth visible below her half-mask, Shadow Weaver appeared to look as unaffected as she used to be. Until she pressed her lips closer with a grimace, her jaw tightening before she turned away to walk from the festivities under construction. </p><p>While some of the guests were excited to show off what they’d created, Shadow Weaver would toss them an up-turned snarl to quickly convince them that she was not as amenable as Castaspella was to handing out criticism. </p><p>By the time most of the guests had realized how upset Shadow Weaver was, the sorceress had planted herself far from the working crowds at a table where the drinks were still being set out. Without a care to the nervous Etherian that saw her snatch a glass, Shadow Weaver quickly upturned the flute and its contents. Even more alarming was the urgent gesture she made with her hand toward the bottle they held, in no mood to negotiate.</p><p>As she refilled her flute, she was vaguely aware of memories coming to the fore of the past. She cared not for the Winter’s Riposte - only the Annual Resolution was worth anything. New beginnings, along with the promise of magic stronger with the gathering of Etherians was all the opportunity Shadow Weaver cared for… once. </p><p>She stared at the glass, willing away the thoughts of isolation that she’d thought didn’t apply to her anymore.</p><p>Elsewhere, Micah and Angella were quite content to just spend time together as they worked out the best arrangement for the motes of light that would dance through the celebration. It was Angella’s favorite part and Micah loved to see the look of mystified wonder on his wife’s face. </p><p>They had just about come to a decision when a sudden call from a winded guard held their attention. </p><p>“What is it?!” Angella called, firm but with a familiar sense of panic in her breast. </p><p>“I...It’s the Queen, M’am! She’s returned!” </p><p>Micah’s eye widened, his expression of concern melting into one of excitement, “Glimmer’s back?! Angella, let’s go!” And without much more thought to the motes, Angella and Micah were making their way to the newest wing of the castle made specifically for Mara’s ship. </p><p>As the royal family all seemed intent to gather around the ship and bid welcome to not only their Queen but their savior She-Ra, Shadow Weaver was content to just stick far out of the way and observe from a distance.</p><p>She watched as Adora and Catra exchanged smiles with everyone, Bow being their apparent carrier as he unloaded a ridiculous amount of… something. It was gaudy, bright and there even appeared to be wrapped parcels in some odd colors. <em>Eternia must have been quite a journey for them. Just as well, I’m certain it’s nothing compared to Etheria.</em> Shadow Weaver thought with an odd feeling of competitiveness in her heart. </p><p>What did it matter if Eternia was Adora’s home planet? She raised her on Etheria and she knew Adora loved this planet enough to risk everything to protect it. </p><p>With a shake of her head, Shadow Weaver made her way to the kitchens. </p><p>It was time for wine, and she knew <em>just</em> who to take it from. </p><p>…<br/>
..<br/>
.</p><p>She couldn’t remember how much time had passed, certainly enough that she’d actually gone through a second bottle of wine, but however long it was… Shadow Weaver was certain that she STILL wasn’t drunk ENOUGH to deal with the bullshit that occured. </p><p>With years of practicing ‘sober walking’, Shadow Weaver was confident that she wouldn’t outwardly look intoxicated as she wandered the halls. She noticed some new things added to the decorations and was more than a little annoyed with the look of cheap garland thrown everywhere. <em>What, did she give up?</em> Shadow Weaver thought with amusement, assuming Castaspella was still in charge of decoration. </p><p>When she walked into the grand hall of the foyer, however, the sorceress was seeing red. Literally and figuratively as she glared at the party-goers. </p><p>Red hats were sprinkled around the participants, along with what she assumed was an unholy amount of glitter that certainly wasn’t magical. But worse… worse of all of it were the amount of over-sized fake ‘ears’ that everyone sported that mimicked her own. </p><p>Incensed at the appropriation of it and the sheer ridiculousness, Shadow Weaver was just about to turn away and stomp back to her room to pass out when she was met with a sight that froze her to the floor. </p><p>Castaspella sporting those very same ears, among many other of the foolish new ‘traditions’ that Adora had returned with. A boa of garland around her neck had Shadow Weaver grimace visibly and the Head Sorceress noticed immediately. </p><p>“It’s a gift from Glimmer! Oh, come on - it’s not that bad!” </p><p>As if to prove her wrong, Shadow Weaver leaned forward into her personal space and raised a hand as if to hold her face gently… before bringing her hand to the fake ears and pluck them from her before pointedly dropping them with all the spite of a woman scorned. </p><p>“W-What?” Castaspella gasped, reaching down to pick it back up, “Are you just that emotional constipated that even ‘joy’ doesn’t make it into that heart of yours?” Shadow Weaver’s lips parted, the words cutting deeper and before she could stop herself, she was turning away and stomping back to her room. She could hear Castaspella call her name but the sorceress would have none of it and disappeared into the shadows of the hallway.</p><p>Castaspella stared, the cold grip of guilt suddenly tightening around her heart before Adora and Catra were walking over. </p><p>“Hey… what happened?” Adora calmly asked, having seen the whole thing with Catra. </p><p>“I don’t know, but... “ Castaspella sighed, “She’s been in a bad mood all day. Every time I tried to get her help, she just said something rude and left. I really don’t know what’s wrong.” </p><p>Catra raised an eyebrow, “Y’sure it’s got nothing to do with those dumb ears Sparkles brought back?” </p><p>Adora scoffed, “Catra, that’s dumb! What’s wrong with them? Mom said they were elf ears and special on Christmas.” </p><p>Catra just narrowed her eyes, “First off; we don’t even KNOW what elves are! Second, Etheria doesn’t <em>have</em> Christmas! Besides, you think I want to see a bunch of people with… with ears like mine just parading around like it’s something funny?” Catra frowned, crossing her arms. “It’s probably humiliating to a lot of people <em>with</em> ears like that to see other people making fun of it…” </p><p>It took a moment - perhaps even longer - before both Castaspella and Adora let out a slow ‘Ohhhhh’, before Adora slapped a hand over her mouth and Castaspella slapped a hand over her face. </p><p>“I didn’t even think about what it would feel like to everyone with-! Ohmygod, the General must be so upset! Is Huntara here?! Oh my god, she must be so mad!” </p><p>“Uh, Etheria to Adora. Not even curious about how Shadow Weaver feels?” Catra questioned, not upset at Adora but certainly surprised that her usually heart-on-her-sleeve girlfriend was so oblivious. </p><p>“What? She doesn’t-” Adora suddenly paused, memories of her childhood rushing at her of trying to pull at Shadow Weaver’s ears as a kid. “Oh… shit.” </p><p>While Catra laughed at Adora’s random use of curse words, Castaspella was looking in the direction Shadow Weaver had left and knew where she’d likely gone. What could she do to make it up to her? </p><p>Her attention was stolen by a tap on her shoulder, startled but suddenly aware of some sort of collection of herbs being handed to her. “Here,” Catra stated. “Sparkles told you about that tradition, yeah?” </p><p>Castaspella stared at the little sprig, uncertain if Shadow Weaver would be in the mood for something like this, but gave a nod anyway. It was worth a shot. “Thank you, Catra.” </p><p>“Uh,” Catra shrugged, looking away with a flustered blush. “Sure, whatever. Just make sure she doesn’t do something stupid.” Before walking off while pulling Adora behind her. They didn’t need a mistletoe to enjoy their own Resolution’s Eve.</p><p>With a soft smile, Castaspella watched the two walk off with their own arduous looks before she focused on the sprig in her hands. </p><p>…<br/>
..<br/>
.</p><p>In her room and already well into a second bottle she’d taken, Shadow Weaver had drawn the curtains along her windows and laid along her best with her arms behind her head. Once more, against her will, memories had come to haunt her. Memories she thought had long since faded with time and solitude.</p><p>A knock came, pulling her attention to the door with irritation, “What now? Come!” She called, louder than she’d intent but far too intoxicated to care. When she recognized who it was, her lips pulled back with a scoff, “Come to decorate <em>my</em> room now? You can save yourself the trouble, Casta,” She turned away, unable to look at her. </p><p>Castaspella’s eyes widened, expecting maybe sarcasm but out-right hostility? Without realizing it, her shoulders were bunching up out of anger, “I haven’t- I came because I was worried about you! You’ve been distant, Shadow Weaver…” She began to approach, an air of caution without hesitating, and sat on the bed beside the sorceress. “More so than usual. I-... look, is this about how I was earlier? I was under a lot of pressure and-” </p><p>Shadow Weaver turned her head so that she was looking at Castaspella just out of the corner of her eye, interjecting, “I know <em>I’m</em> terrible at apologies, but the least you could do is try.” </p><p>Mouth hanging open, Castaspela could only gawk before she gave a sigh - shoulders sagging. It was just like Shadow Weaver to cut right to the chase, even if she were upset about it. Angella has already told her plenty of times how she tended to be overzealous,but she just… wanted to make sure everything was perfect.</p><p>“You’re right. I’m sorry,” At that, Shadow Weaver turned completely to the head sorceress with her lips parted slightly in surprise. Had she really gotten an apology out of her? </p><p>Her hesitation was thankfully brief, returning softly, “... thank you.” </p><p>For a long moment, neither said anything - uncertain where to go from here until Castaspella remembered that she was the one who approached Shadow Weaver. “Was there… any other reason you were so upset today? Besides me?” In effort to soften up the sorceress, Castaspella shifted her hand closer to gently entwine their fingers. </p><p>Shadow Weaver looked at their joining of their hands, her expression unmoving, before she allowed her fingers to tighten just a little. <em>What do you do to me, you silly woman...</em></p><p>“Perceptive, though I hesitate to give you too much credit,” Shadow Weaver started before giving a sigh and reaching up to take off her half mask. With her eyes revealed, Castaspella could see plainly the tiredness and redness of her being so intoxicated - in addition to something else more melancholy. “Whatever this ‘Christmas’ means to Adora, I expected better of you to know how inappropriate those ears were. By Etheria, you-” Shadow Weaver closed her eyes, brow furrowed in annoyance as she recalled just how angry she was. “You should have known better. How humiliating it was to see those disgusting mimics on you.” </p><p>And worse, Castaspella knew how much <em>Shadow Weaver</em> loved her rounded ears. </p><p>Seeing just how affected Shadow Weaver was, Castaspella realized how right Catra was. “I know, I-... I’m sorry, Shadow,” She tried to appeal to her with the shorthand of her name, her tone contrite as she shifted on the bed to lean closer to her lover. “I wasn’t thinking. Again.”</p><p>At that Shadow Weaver would meet Castaspella halfway, leaning her own forehead against Castaspella’s, “I’m used to it, so enough of that. What was it Micah once said? ‘Head Empty, Heart Full’?” Shadow Weaver parroted with a teasing smirk, earning a bubble of laughter from Castaspella. </p><p>“He comes up with the weirdest metaphors!”</p><p>“That he does…” Shadow Weaver’s voice trailed off, earning a look of curiosity and confusion from Castaspella before she pulled back just a bite. “There is more, but-” Was she ready to express those memories? Did she even truly recall them correctly. “Suffice to say, they’re not very festive for a day such as this.” </p><p>“Does that matter, if it hurts?” Castaspella blurted out, not realizing the nugget of wisdom as Shadow Weaver stared into her eyes with visible consternation.</p><p>“Perhaps. I’ve never subscribed to the notion of ‘the truth will set you free’. But perhaps it’s time to at least tell you before I lose the memory entirely,” The thought was equal parts relieving and sorrowful to Shadow Weaver. “To put it simply: This is the day that I was emancipated. From the point that I was born, until an age I can scarcely remember, I was only ever property. Pushed from one owner to the next, until I finally managed to escape with the help of someone who was once my friend.” </p><p>She hated recalling the face of the magicat she spent her youth with… not only was she the reason she’d been able to take on the name ‘Light Spinner’ and start a new life - she was also the reason she couldn’t trust the feelings of love and affection. </p><p>Castaspella’s eyes were wide with mystified worry, “You were a slave? As a <em>child</em>?!” </p><p>“Such was the culture of the Twilight Guardians - or so they claimed. It is where I learned of Dark Magic and… had I stayed, would have certainly been inducted among their ranks if I had any talent for magic at all.”</p><p>“I’m confused; you DO have a talent for magic,” Castaspella returned, her own eyebrows furrowed in deep confusion. </p><p>“I told Catra this once, though I don’t know if she ever believed me. I wasn’t born to power, Casta,” Shadow Weaver raised a hand, caressing Castaspella’s cheek softly with her nails. “I was immersed in it. Painfully. As a gift from the Guardians that could control dark magic as if it were nothing more than light construct. I was weak, hardly able to do even the simplest of labor and it was only when I was chosen by the shaman did I learn that one without magic… could be MADE to possess it.” She let her hand fall, sadness and shame curling in her gut. “It is from there that I dedicated my life to nursing this new gift. To push others to embrace and hone their natural gift when others who were not as lucky as I could only suffer in silence.”</p><p>Castaspella stared at Shadow Weaver, wanting to feel the warmth of her hand again, but decided that it was Shadow Weaver’s turn and moved forward. </p><p>Their lips caught awkwardly for only a moment before Castaspella held her face as if she were something precious and pressed closer. When they pulled away, both of their heads empty from the soft moment, Castaspella whispered with conviction, “While I don’t completely understand, I-... I’m happy you’re here. Free. And still able to use magic,” She swallowed, face flushed a deep red before she pulled out something. “And of course, I forgot about this.” </p><p>One brow arched, Shadow Weaver observed the small sprig in Castaspella’s hand as she lay beneath the head sorceress and scrutinized it, “Where did you get that?” </p><p>“Oh, that part doesn’t matter. It’s what you DO with it that does,” Castaspella chuckled, her voice dropping a few octaves. That was all the justification Shadow Weaver needed to lean forward to kiss her again and again, chuckling with amusement as Castaspella seemed to almost lose herself in their affections. Entwined as they were, and very much distracted, neither noticed the door opening a crack before it slammed open. </p><p>Catra, quickly followed by Adora trying to catch her, laughed loudly in that pitched voice of her, “I KNEW you couldn’t resist it! Oh man!”</p><p>On instinct, Shadow Weaver held Castaspella closely and leaned up with a hiss, <strong>“CATRA!”</strong></p><p>Where as Catra might have once been worried about the tone in which Shadow Weaver yelled, the Magicat just simply laughed before rushing out, “I’m telling Micah all about this! C’mon Adora!” </p><p>“What?!”<br/>
“Don’t you dare-!” </p><p>Castaspella and Shadow Weaver said respectively before Catra was out the door with Adora once again struggling to catch up to her. Shadow Weaver was hardly in any position to go chasing after her and just shook her head before letting it fall on the pillows. “That abhorrent child.” Even so, she couldn’t stop the curl at her lips that Catra was back to being the chaotic storm she’d raised back in the Horde. </p><p>Castaspella, meanwhile, just looked at the sprig of mistletoe with a pout before huffing, “I knew she was up to something…”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>HAPPY NEW YEAR YA'LL!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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